This quick summer salad makes for an easy meal. The recipe came together by chance one afternoon while I was visiting my parents.

For as long as I can remember we have had our own tomatoes every summer. Growing up on those sweet little gems forever spoiled me from store-bought tomatoes.

Although cherry tomatoes from the store can sometimes be fairly sweet, this dish, like anything with tomatoes, is incomparably better with those from your own garden. If you must buy yours at the store, get the sweetest sort possible.

This particular visit to my folks’ there wasn’t much in the fridge, but we had a surfeit of cherry tomatoes. After a bit of scrounging in the cupboards I came up with a few items that seemed like they could work together. The combination was a big hit with everyone. Unlike most of my recipes, this salad has no heat, so even my dad came back for seconds.

Cherry Tomatoes with Almonds & Mint

25-30 sweet cherry tomatoes

1 1/2 cup raw sliced almonds

6 scallions

1 small bunch chives

3/4 cup packed fresh mint

About 1/2 cup shredded, and same amount shaved of any grana cheese, like Grana Padano, or Parmigiano Reggiano

The world-famous Venetian merchant and explorer Marco Polo is largely credited with introducing the European mind to the mysteries of the Asian continent through his book, Livres des merveilles du monde. And just like Marco Polo, this dish has Italian origins, but an eastern perspective.

Those wide flat noodles really soak up this bright sauce brilliantly. The original is fantastic, and you should try it, but the pea purée that is the basis for the sauce is so good, that I find myself wanting it far more frequently than I am willing to indulge in macaroni.

So I set off on my own little mental silk road in search of a suitable noodle substitute. And, like Marco Polo himself, I was met with great fortune in the east.

Paneer, a fresh cheese, is used throughout Indian cuisine, especially in the north. It typically appears as the center piece or main protein in dishes. Paneer is so highly esteemed that some dishes featuring it were named for kings, and reserved for royalty.

It makes sense too. Paneer is not only delicious, it doesn’t melt, so it can be fried into crispy, golden cubes of delight. Yet, unknown to many, this is true of almost all fresh cheeses – or those made from the draining and pressing of curds without the addition of any rennet, or aging.

Discovering this banalità caseosa was an eureka! moment for me, especially with regards to the sauce in this recipe. By substituting the eastern tradition of golden-fried fresh cheese cubes for the wide Italian noodles, I found a way to use the delightful pea and mint sauce of the original recipe while avoiding the excess starch and dietary perils of rampant macaroni consumption.

Paneer is a little bit harder to come by, but really any fresh cheese will work. Haloumi might be a bit on the salty side, but otherwise would make a fine substitute. Any of the Mexican fresh cheeses, like queso fresco, queso blanco, or queso panela would work well too. I personally used panela, because I think it has the best texture of the lot, and the mildest flavor, so it really works to showcase the brilliance of the pea and mint sauce.

The recipe is a cinch. Basically you make the sauce by sauteing onions with garlic and hot pepper till they begin to caramelize, then adding peas, and honey. Then you puree the whole mess into a thin paste. Once the sauce is made, you fry the cheese, toss it with some whole peas, and the purée. Once tossed, the mix is topped with fresh mint and some parmigiano for taste.

Frying the cheese can be a little bit of a pain, so make sure you have a good quality non-stick pan. It will make your life much easier, and the cubes of cheese will come out much better looking too. If you get the oil and butter very hot, almost to the point of smoking, then reduce the flame to medium when you add the cheese to the pan, the process will go more smoothly as well.

Marco Polo’s Delight

1 package of queso panela (about 12 oz, or 400 grams.)

2 heaping cups fresh or frozen sweet peas

12 shallots (the original recipe calls for a Spanish onion, but I think any onion will do, and am preferential to shallots)

3 cloves of garlic

2 hot sweet red peppers

1 1/2 tbsp raw honey

4 tbsp sweet cream butter

4 tbsp extra virgin olive oil

1 very large bunch of mint, about 1 cup packed

Parmigiano or Grana Padano for shredding when serving

salt and pepper to taste

Cut the panela into about 1/2 to 1 inch cubes.

Slice the garlic, shallots, and hot pepper roughly.

Remove the mint leaves from the stems, and chop roughly.

Heat a pan with 2 tablespoons of olive oil, and 2 tablespoons of butter,to medium high.

Add the shallots, and hot peppers.

Sauté the shallots and pepper until they start fading to translucence and their edges begin to caramelize.

Clear a space in the middle of the pan by moving the shallots and peppers to the sides. Add the garlic to the open space. Let it sauté in the middle until it starts to become fragrant. Then mix it in with the rest.

Add half of the peas, the honey, and the salt and pepper to the pan. Cook until the peas are just barely finished. Not more than 5 minutes. This is important, as overcooking will ruin the bright color of the sauce, and make the dish much less appetizing.

Once the peas are ready, remove from the heat, add 1/4 of the chopped mint leaves, and stir in.

Pour the contents of the pan into a food processor, and purée until you have a smooth thin paste. You can add a little bit of olive oil or water to get the consistency right.

Wipe the pan of any excess pieces that might burn as you reheat it for the cheese. Add the remaining oil and butter, and heat the pan on high, until the butter and oil is about to smoke. Then, add the cheese.

Fry each side of the cheese until golden.

Add the remaining peas, and as much of the sauce as is necessary to coat the cheese. If you are having trouble tossing the cheese evenly because the sauce is too thick add a little olive oil or water one teaspoon at a time. Once the cheese is coated, remove from the heat, add the remaining mint leaves, and grated parmigiano, and toss.

No summer garden is complete without aubergines, or as they are known in these United States, eggplants. Luckily, we live in a time when people eat this wonder fruit. Not long ago, people avoided it for fear of it being poisonous on account of its dark shades. It turns out though, that aubergines are incredibly healthy. Not only are they low in calories and delicious, they are also one of the only vegetables with protein content. Aubergines are also incredibly versatile. You can grill them and eat the slices, use them in sautés, in stir frys, or roast them whole and purée them into the delicious middle eastern dip baba ganoush. The possibilities are limitless

One of my favorite methods of preparing eggplants has always been grilled aubergine roulettes. You might remember my recipe for aubergine roulettes with goat cheese, but this recipe with its savoury herbal pistachio stuffing takes the cake.

Some time in the spring the LA times featured a recipe for grilled aubergine stuffed with a walnut herb mixture, which inspired this recipe. Walnuts are delicious, and very healthy, but I have always preferred pistachios to other nuts. This preference was affirmed when I discovered a recipe for a Sicilian pesto in Clothidle from Chocolate and Zucchini’s cookbook. That recipe called for pistachios in place of the traditional pine nuts, and it makes sense, as the pistachio enjoys widespread cultivation in Sicily, and a place of prominence on Sicilian tables. Suffice it to say, her pesto is probably the best I’ve ever had, and I’ll probably never turn back to pine nuts now that my love of pistachios has been amplified by an awareness of their versatility in the kitchen.

So in Sicilian style I applied a similar substitution to this recipe, and replaced the walnuts with pistachios. I also omitted the coriander seeds, and modified the flavors by using some dried culinary flowers from my garden. The exotic floral notes of lavender and rose combine with the barbecue flavor of the aubergines, and the savoury herbal pistachio filling to make an unforgettable appetizer. These little rolls are amazing served immediately, and just as delicious served cold.

Overall, the recipe is a snap. The only obnoxious part is salting the aubergines. Italian aubergines are quite bitter naturally, so they have to be salted to make them palatable. If you leave aubergine slices sprinkled with salt for about 15 minutes, the bitter juices will be drawn out, and you can then rinse the slices and proceed.

Lastly, although this recipe can be made without a food processor by using a mortar and pestle, or even a large kitchen knife, using the processor will make your life easier, and the prep much quicker. You don’t need an industrial Cuisinart, just the smallest chopper will work. My own food processor has been broken for a few months, but I noticed Target had a tiny 2 cup processor on sale on their web page for 20 dollars or so. As luck would have it, I managed to snag the very last one on the shelves of the San Jose Target, and it had been reduced to $3.00 because it was the very last one in stock. I was pretty excited, as these machines are truly amazing tools. So, get to the store, and buy a processor! Your culinary experience will never be the same afterward.

Rotoli di Melanzane con Ripieno di Pistacchio:

(Aubergine Roulettes with Pistachio Filling)

2 Aubergines

1 1/2 cup dry roast, unsalted pistachios

1/3 cup onion

1/2 cup cilantro, packed

1/3 cup parsley packed

3 cloves garlic

1 Fresno pepper

1/2 teaspoon red wine vinegar

1/2 teaspoon white wine vinegar

1/2 cup olive oil

1 lemon

1 green onion for garnish

1 teaspoon lavender

1 teaspoon dried rose petals

salt and pepper to taste

Slice the tops and bottoms from the aubergines so they stand level.

Slice the aubergines into 1/4 inch slices. Salt the slices, and set aside for about 15 minutes to allow the salt to draw the bitter juices from them. Light the grill.

Place the remaining ingredients in a food processor, and pulse until a coarse paste results. You can do this step by hand with a mortar and pestle, or even a large kitchen knife, but even a tiny food processor will make your life much easier here. Use only as much of the olive oil as needed to achieve a coarse, but well blended consistency, like a very thick pesto. Reserve the rest of the oil, and place the filling in the fridge, and allow the flavors to meld.

Rinse the aubergine slices, and pat dry. Brush each slice with a kiss of olive oil. Place the slices on a hot grill.

Cook each slice about 3-5 minutes on each side, or until grill marks appear, and the edges begin to crisp, but the slices are still pliant. Be careful not to overcook the aubergine slices, or they will be more like chips, and you won’t be able to roll them around the filling.

Place about one tablespoon of pistachio filling on each slice, and roll up.

Though I don’t really follow a diet, my general attitude is stay away from processed, and highly refined carbohydrates. I stick mostly with fresh vegetables, fruits, leafy greens, lots of dairy, and good meat and seafood. Coincidentally, the layout of my dining habits happens to correspond to a lifestyle people have been talking a lot about lately – the paleo diet.

Apparently, eating like a paleolithic caveman has numerous health benefits. The theory is that metabolic evolution does not take place apace with intellectual and technological development, and the energy content of our modern diets has long since outstripped our bodies’ processing power. This has led to the so-called obesity epidemic, and countless other modern health problems. Paleovores assert by eating only foods for which our metabolisms have been evolutionarily calibrated, we will experience a newfound sense of vigour, and do wonders for our health. On a basic level, the idea makes sense.

Though my indecorously excessive dairy habit disqualifies me from paleo in the minds of the strictest adherents of this diet, I’d still say my thinking about food, and my own metabolism roughly lines up with the philosophy of other paleovores. I’m just unwilling to be excessive about dietary dogma, and giving up cheese, and yogurt, and the use of electricity to prepare food seems that way to me. To deny ourselves every and any modern culinary convenience, just because caveman wouldn’t have had access strikes me as an odd form of gastronomic neo-luddism.

But, let’s put dietary doctrine aside, because, like I said, I don’t really have a diet, so much as general ideas from experience about what works as healthy eating for me.

The only foods that really pose a problem are chocolate and ice cream, and I’ll admit it, a life without ice cream would be a barren and sad affair indeed. But, both chocolate and ice cream can be made simply, naturally and with fresh enough ingredients that I’m still willing to consider them healthy, whole foods, and compromise infrequently on the sugar front. Plus, do we seriously think Ug, the homo-habilis could have possibly resisted the lure of honey-lavender gelato? Please! He would have clubbed you for it, and scarfed down the whole pint, cardboard and all!

There is one more pitfall though. My culinary nostalgia is often distracted with a number of carb-laden treats from childhood. High on this list is something from the Latvian kitchen, biezpiena plācenīši, or, cottage cheese croquettes.

Whenever I was hungry, or bored, or, um, well, whenever, my grandmother would fry up these simple, crunchy, crispy, creamy delights for me – and in a flash. It goes without saying that I would devour them with relish, and soon be asking for more. No wonder I was such a jolly child, after all, eating countless fried balls of cheese and flour is not the best regime for staying svelte – but who could have ever said no to dear Omi’s love?

Authentic biezpiena plācenīši are a morsel of classic Latvian culinaria; an example of simple, hearty, farm fare, made from what was close at hand. The principle ingredient in these croquettes is biezpiens, or a kind of cottage cheese. And it makes sense, because Latvians have always consumed an enormous amount of dairy. So important is the dairy industry in Latvia, that exporting butter alone we managed to net consistently strong positive trade balances in the 1930’s. Our bacon did pretty damn well on foreign markets too. Dairy is so big in Latvian cuisine, if there is a way to use a milk product in cooking, we have done it.

These croquettes are just that sort of recipe. The authentic version has you combine biezpiens with flour, and salt and pepper, or honey for a sweet version. Then form the mixture into patties, and fry. My stomach growls just thinking of that first cheesy, crackling, crunch of a bite. For a long time, though, that is all I would let my tummy do, growl, as the flour in the traditional recipe is high on my list of avoided foods.

Long and short, I’ve really missed these little croquettes. So, it was with quite a bit of excitement that I discovered a way to bring them back into my life – almond meal. Of course, the end result is not exactly the same, but it is independently delicious, and vaguely similar enough to satisfy.

Almond meal really is fantastic stuff. Every kitchen needs some. It is very low in carbohydrates, extraordinarily high in protein, and has all kinds of the healthy fats & oils of the sort so often found in nuts. It makes a fantastic substitute for flour, and in many applications tastes even better on account of its complex, nutty flavors. It might not work for 100% substitutions in full-on baking applications, but for breading purposes, and other paleo, or low-carb applications, it is perfect.

For making paleo-plācenīši, or, caveman croquettes, or savoury almond cakes, or whatever you want to call them, it is ideal.

The basic recipe lends itself to innumerable variations in spicing and flavoring, as the almond meal and biezpiens make for such a pliable palette.

Regular cottage cheese will work, and even better if you drain it for a bit beforehand. This can be done easily in a colander lined with a double layer of cheesecloth. However, the biezpiens that goes into the original recipe has much less whey than typical American cottage cheese. In the United States, a Mexican cheese called requezon makes an ideal biezpiena substitute.

I like to make plācenīši with green garden herbs. Not only because they come out tasting fresh and bright, but it also seems appropriate to use fresh garden herbs as an homage to the Latvian cooking traditions supporting the recipe – especially considering the serious departure from norms I’ve taken with my use of almond meal. I am convinced however, that even the most diehard farmhouse kitchen conservatives would be won over with their first bite.

Paleo Plācenīši:(Caveman Croquettes)

1 lb biezpiens or requezon cheese (cottage cheesed drained for a little bit in a colander lined with a double layer of cheesecloth will work)

2 1/3 cups almond meal

1/ 4 cup flax-seed meal

3 eggs

1 bunch green onions

1 large bunch of fresh thyme, 30-40 sprigs

1/4 bunch of fresh dill

1 clove of garlic

1 red, hot-sweet pepper

2 tsp of honey

salt

black pepper

enough light frying oil to fill a pan to 1/2 inch

Place the biezpiens in a bowl for mixing, and break any bigger clumps down into small curds with a fork.

Remove the thyme leaves from their sprigs. This important step is tedious, and a bit of a chore, but the superiority of fresh thyme over the dried stuff makes it worth it. With a little good music, and a glass of wine, it goes by quickly.

Chop the dill. Mince the garlic and hot pepper. Add the thyme to the cutting board, and chop slightly more, just enough to rough up the thyme leaves and release some of their fragrance.

Chop the green onions thinly.

Add everything but the flax and almond meal to the biezpiens.

Mix well. The result should be a fairly thick and smooth, almost like a batter. Now, mix in the almond and flax meals a little bit at a time.

Continue adding almond meal little by little, until the mix is a smooth, even consistency that holds together well enough to form into patties.

Make the plācenīši by forming the almond-meal – biezpiens mix into patties.

Heat the oil in a good non-stick pan almost to the point of smoking. Put the plācenīši into the very hot oil, and reduce the heat to medium.

Fry the first side for about 5 – 10 minutes, or until golden.

Then, flip the plācenīši over and cook the other sides.

Remove from the oil, and place on a plate lined with paper towels to cool.

Living in northern California has a lot of nice aspects. The weather is consistently fantastic (except this year). San Jose is also pancake flat, so I can cycle or walk basically anywhere. All the good weather is great for gardens too. Everything grows well here, and there is always something in season.

The second half of summer is time for stone fruits, and as luck should have it, I noticed an apricot tree teeming with ripe fruit last night while walking to dinner. This treasure was sitting in the middle of a fenced-in abandoned lot nestled behind a 7-11. I made a mental note, and walked on to have a fantastic Vietnamese dinner at Vung Tau, one of San Jose’s many excellent Vietnamese restaurants – the amazing diversity of people and treats being another plus of living here.

After having mustered up courage while considering the name shaking beef, we started to make our way home. As I passed the apricot lot, I glanced about to make sure the coast was clear, and with one deft swoop I was over the fence, and into the land of milk and honey. I had bought some trifles at 7-11 beforehand so I could get a plastic bag, and once up in the branches of the apricot tree, I filled it to the brim with ripe fruit.

Almost as soon as I was in the lot, I was back over the fence with the mother-lode of apricots, and back on my way home.

Even though my days currently consist of the thrilling little death march of bar study, and the stress of dealing with a crooked mechanic, little adventures like this make life worthwhile.

This quick, simple salad is one of my kitchen standbys whenever dill is in season in my garden. The honey softens the slow, low burn of the Serrano, and the cucumbers really mop up all of the flavors in the dressing. The fresh, crisp crunch of cabbage as background rounds out the mix.

I served this last night with the shallot-basil burgers of the previous post, and it was a great pairing. I’d say my guests reaction is a good indicator of how tasty this is. As good as those burgers were, and they were, the salad was demolished in much shorter order, while a few patties still remained as leftovers by the end of the evening.

Summer Dill Salad:

1/4 large head red cabbage

2 persian cucumbers

1/2 sweet onion

1 scallion

2/3 bunch of fresh dill

3 small sized cloves of garlic

1 small serrano pepper

4 tbsp white wine vinegar

1.5 tbsp honey

2 tbsp olive oil

salt and pepper to taste

Wash and peel the cucumbers. I like to leave a little bit of skin on them in thin strips, for the color, pattern, and the texture. With the persian cucumbers this is no problem, as they are not bitter at all.

Cut the cucumbers in half lengthwise, then cut the halves into half inch slices.

Shred the cabbage thinly.

Chop the dill.

Slice the onion thinly.

Slice the green onion thinly.

Mince the garlic and Serrano together.

Place all of the ingredients in a bowl, and mix well. Let sit in the fridge for at least 20 minutes, and toss again before serving.

Few things in life conjure up such positive associations as burgers. They are classic American summer fare, and are inextricably linked to thoughts of freedom, blue skies, warm weather, cold drinks, and good company. No matter how hard things might be at the rat race, knowing that you can always come home and stoke the barbecue flames till they lick the sky is a source of constant comfort. Everyone has something to complain about, but the solace of the backyard kitchen is an eternal refuge for the work-weary. Over the coals, worries melt away like fat dripping from juicy patties, and after that first tender bite, the savoury trinity of char, spice, and smoke brings repose to troubled hearts, and satiety to rumbling bellies.

Recently the LA times ran a feature on the best burger recipes from reader submissions. Some of the burgersselected in this little contest sounded so mouth-watering that I could not help but be inspired to craft my own burger recipe. Now, all of the recipes ran in the feature had slightly ethnic twists to them – the german-cuban pork, the southwestern, the mexican. To me this really demonstrates the versatility of a burger. If the thing itself weren’t such a solid foundation, then it wouldn’t support all the variations on a theme so well. But, because a burger is such a classic, it is important to not stray too far, or else that underlying greatness might get lost in the enthusiasm and confusion of experimentation. After I had read that article, I realized I had some leftover Thai basil, and shallots, from the kohlrabi salad earlier this week, and was taken with a flash of inspiration.

The results were delicious, and balanced. The basil-shallot combination, which is so common in the southeast asian kitchen, took on a different tone in the absence of fish sauce, and lime playing supporting roles. Instead, the aji pepper paste picked up the slack on the acidity front, and really brought all the other flavors together in a quiet way, where no one taste dominated. The combination really showcased the humble hamburger’s ability to be a platform for the subtle display of exotic flavors, just like a great melody lends itself to frequent, and delicate harmonization.

The real secret to these patties though, is not the spices, or herbs, but the bacon – the bacon is the bass line! In my mind, no great burger fails to include bacon in its ingredients. Once upon a time, thick, marbled pieces of beef were ground for hamburger meat, but alas, no more. These days, the scourge of lean beef has taken the land. Making a patty with lean beef alone will inevitably result in a charred and eviscerated disappointment of a hockey puck, fit more to be a doorstop than for human consumption. By dicing a few slices of bacon, and adding them to the mix, you guarantee a juicy, tender burger every time, regardless of what spice, or flavor profile you intend for the burger. From classic plain patties, to exotically spiced, bacon is what makes every burger.

Shallot-Basil Burgers:

(makes from 15-20 patties, depending on their size)

2 pounds highest fat ground beef available

2 pounds ground pork

6 slices of bacon

7 shallots

1 green onion

2 cloves of garlic

2/3 bunch of Thai basil (sweet basil would be great here too, but I would probably use one whole bunch, or slightly more, as it is not as pungent)

3 eggs

2 teaspoons of Aji pepper paste

3 tsp soy sauce

2 tsp honey

a dash of cumin

salt and pepper to taste

Before anything else, place the bacon in the freezer. Bacon is very fatty, slippery, and quite hard to cut finely, unless it is at least partially frozen. This trick will really save you a lot of effort.

Dice the shallots, basil, and garlic.

Slice the green onion thinly.

Remove the bacon from the freezer, and cut into pieces as small as possible. I find it easiest to leave the stack of slices whole, and cut very thinly across the short side. Once you’ve done that, cutting those thin strips in the other direction is a cinch.

Put all of the ingredients in a large bowl.

Now, here is where the fun begins. Wash your hands thoroughly, and, then, dive into the mess and start mixing, until the meat and the ingredients are evenly distributed and well-mixed. Don’t be afraid of getting dirty, and be sure to use your hands rather than a spoon or some other tool. Really getting in the mix will get the job done faster, and with less effort, whereas overworking the meat will result in much tougher burgers.

Form the mixture into patties. The size I made patties ended up with about 15 patties.

Stoke up the grill! Of course, you could bake these, or fry them in a pan. But, seriously, why would you?

Once your grill is hot, put the burgers on, and cook till done. Now, as with most things I do, and everything I do in the kitchen, I’m an amateur in grill technique. I’m sure there’s a surfeit of competing grill theories out there, but I doubt it is an objectively resolvable question. I do believe, though, that fretting cooks will often overwork, overstir, and overcook their dishes, so I subscribe to the minimal intervention, or one-flip theory of grilling. No pressing, squishing, squeezing, moving, or constant flipping. Just put the burgers on the grill, close it, let them roast on the first side ’till as done as you like. Then, flip, and repeat. One turn on the heat per side – just one flip total – then the burgers are done. Not only does this sear the meat quickly, it also conserves a lot of juices that would otherwise be lost were the patties to be constantly tampered with. I also lean towards this kind of grilling because grills are really a lot like ovens. When the kettle is left closed more heat builds up, and better cooking results. And, of course, each lifting of the lid is a substantial loss of heat, even in the heat of summer. But, you all know your own grills, and tastes best, so cook the patties to your taste, and I’m sure they will come out well.

Once the burgers are done, remove them from the grill, and let them sit covered for about 2 minutes before serving. This allows the juices to settle, and really locks the flavors in.

Breathe deeply, open some cold, hoppy beers with good friends, take in the stars studding the summer sky. Savour the first smokey-savoury-sweet bite of your burger, and enjoy the realization washing over you that no challenge can keep you from coming back to who, and what really matters most.

It is still too hot in San Jose to turn on the stove for any reason, and this light, crispy kohlrabi salad with just a touch of heat is a quick, simple dish well suited for this season. I brought it to a small fourth of July bbq last night, and it was a huge hit, with people coming back for fourths and fifths. The sweet, cool flavors of honey and rice vinegar highlight the refreshing crunch of kohlrabi complemented by the fragrant southeast asian flavors of Thai basil and hot pepper.

As I mentioned before, older, larger kohlrabis tend to get pithy and bland in taste. The smaller, and fresher the kohlrabi used for this salad, the crispier, and more pronounced the flavors will be. The kohlrabi in this dish is cut into match sticks, then salted to remove some moisture. This makes the kohlrabi even crispier, and reduces the strong cabbage smell that cut kohlrabi can give off if allowed to sit.

Thai basil can be found in almost any asian market, and differs from sweet basil in appearance on account of its thicker purple stems and flowers. The flavor profile of Thai basil also features anise notes much more prominently than sweet basil, but, in a pinch, the regular Italian stuff will still make a decent substitute.

The shredded carrot and daikon mix, a standby of Vietnamese cuisine, gives the dish some more substance as well as a nice flash of color. If you are lucky enough to have a Vietnamese market close by they will likely have a pre-prepared shredded carrot and daikon on sale for pennies a pound. This stuff is a universal Vietnamese side, topping, and base for salads and pickles – a sort of Vietnamese answer to sauerkraut. If you see it pre-made on sale, it is worth buying, not only because it is delicious, but also inexpensive, versatile, and keeps for sometime. Some markets sell it both fresh and pickled. The pickled stuff is called đồ chua, and could be used in this dish, but the flavors will be altered. So, if possible, stick the fresh variety. Absent Vietnamese markets, a box grater will make for easy shredding of about 2 carrots, and one half a daikon radish.

Salade de Chou-rave Indochinoise:
(southeast asian kohlrabi slaw)

3 – 4 medium kohlrabi

1 1/2 cup shredded carrot and daikon

7 shallots

2 scallions

2 cloves of garlic

2 – 4 hot, sweet, red peppers (Fresno, Rocoto, or Aji will all work, each with slightly different results)

1/2 bunch Thai basil

2 tbsp rice vinegar

2 tbsp white wine vinegar

3/4 tbsp sesame oil

3/4 tbsp honey

2 tsp fish sauce

dash of sea salt

black pepper to taste

Peel the kohlrabi, cut into quarter-inch thick rounds, then slice the rounds into matchstick size pieces. Place the matchsticks in a colander, and salt them. Leave the kohlrabi to sit salted, so as to draw out some of its moisture.

Slice the shallots thinly.

Mince the garlic and the hot peppers.

Cut the Thai basil into chiffonade. Separate the leaves from the stems, and stack them flat on top of one another. Then, roll the stack of leaves into a bundle, and cut as thinly as possible across the short side of the rolled bundle of leaves. This will result in thin ribbons of basil.

Slice the scallions thinly. Rinse, drain, and pat the kohlrabi dry. Toss all of the ingredient together until well mixed. Let the salad sit covered in the fridge for about 20 minutes for the flavors to meld. Enjoy!

This post has been a long time coming. My little recipe repertoire project slumbered through a hard winter. And, even though things are still not easy yet, summer is in full swing. For those morningbird songs we don’t hear other times in the year we can still be thankful.

It is from just these sort of summer feelings that this spontaneous recipe takes its inspiration. You see, the epic, day-glo pink color of this salad is a classic feature of a mainstay of the Latvian summer diet – cold beet soup. That soup, however, is really quite different from this salad, aside from its color, and, a recipe for another day. Nonetheless, just having celebrated the summer solstice, things Latvian coupled with a new sense of energy have been polka-ing about my thoughts. This salad is a product of just that. And, so, this little piggy’s kitchen is back in operation. Cūciņa cucina ir augšamcēlusies!

Being as my life is consumed with my study for the California bar exam, my time for grocery shopping has been ever so slightly inhibited. Yet, as the modern world knows, brains need calories for thinking. If I weren’t to eat at all there’s no way I could pass this test. In difficult times, we make do with what he have on hand. In fact, sometimes, like today, the results come out brilliantly.

Cold beets and cream when combined create a fantastically brilliant pink color. That combination is one, that to me, is classically summery. When served cold this is just the sort of freshly cool and light food to fend off the wispy hunger pains peculiar to hot summer days – those feelings of pestering emptiness, which, stunted from full-fledged hunger by the heat, have us squeamishly demur from the heavier dishes of cooler seasons. Here, this color combination works as a base for a piquant cold vegetable salad, that surprises with both the vibrancy of its looks, and tastes.

1/2 cup heavy cream (give or take, use your judgement and gauge how creamy you want the salad. I poured indiscriminately)

Drain and rinse the beets and olives. Cut the beets into fat slices or small wedges. Add the olives. Chop the parsley. Slice the Shallots thinly and separate the slices. Slice the green onions thinly. Chop the Serrano. Combine all of the ingredients, and serve.

This was fairly tasty. Unfortunately, law school consumed my life for a while, just like preparing for the bar exam is doing now. My memories of the detail of this recipe were consumed therewith. I hope you will at once forgive me , and condemn the institutions of legal education in the united states for this loss.